Mistaken Identity
by Monkey Shines
Summary: Alistair is the King of Ferelden, and he's eager to meet the man he put in charge of the Wardens. Only, things don't quite go according to plan. Justice makes an appearance.


**Disclaimer: **Dragon Age - It belongs to EA and Bioware, we just fool around with its characters. Story contains smut (obviously =P).

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**Mistaken Identity**

_HRH_

_King Alistair Theirin_

_Palace of Denerim_

_Your Majesty,_

_I would first like to express my deepest apologies for not having been present when Your Majesty had visited Amaranthine this past month. Unfortunately, as I am sure Your Majesty was informed, Vigil's Keep had just been attacked by a rather large group of darkspawn. I felt it was my duty as Commander to oversee the treatment of the wounded soldiers. This of course included the Keep's seneschal, who had been gravely injured in combat. I trust that my missive made it to Your Majesty's contingent before it set out for Vigil's Keep. Despite a rather difficult start, I am pleased to report that we have recruited four new Wardens. The first is an extraordinarily talented mage named Anders, whose healing abilities have proven vital in combat. The second is a dwarf by the name of Oghren, a rather spirited fellow who wields an axe like no other. The third is none other than Nathaniel Howe, the late Rendon Howe's son. I realize that this may come as a shock, but the man is nothing like his father. He has proven to be loyal and honourable, and of course he is an excellent marksman. The fourth Warden is a bit more difficult to explain. He is a Fade spirit who inhabits the body of a deceased Warden we had been searching for, Kristoff. The spirit is justice personified, and therefore has named himself Justice. Rather à propos I would think._

_We discovered that Kristoff had been staying at the Crown and Lion, and from there had ventured to the Blackmarsh. It was quite an extraordinary expedition, to say the least. We did, however, learn more about the sentient darkspawn, and a creature they follow called 'the Mother'. Who or what this 'Mother' is remains to be seen. _

_On a more political note, my group will be travelling to the Wending Woods on the morrow to investigate some recent difficulties concerning the merchant caravans. Attacks have been reported, and as this has a direct effect on trade between Amaranthine and other cities, I feel the matter warrants my full attention._

_I will inform Your Majesty should any other issues arise, be they Warden, political, or otherwise. While I am a native of Orlais, I consider Ferelden my home, and will always venture to maintain open and honest communication between myself and Your Majesty. _

_Sincerely,_

_Warden-Commander 'Ron' Caron_

_Liege Lord of Amaranthine_

_(Translated by Seneschal Varel)_

***.,,,.*"*.,,,.*"*.,,,.***

_Warden-Commander 'Ron' Caron_

_Liege Lord of Amaranthine_

_Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine_

_Commander,_

_Your dedication to the Grey Warden cause is truly admirable. While I have not had much news of your exploits, I can tell from your letter that you have not only the Grey Wardens', but the arling's interests at heart. Unfortunately, these past six months have found me in Antiva on important matters of state; you understand that I cannot go into details at the moment. As a result, I have heard next to nothing of the goings on in Amaranthine, which is why I was quite pleased to hear of these issues directly from the source. _

_I have very little in the way of information about you, which is frankly appalling, considering you are one of the most important nobles in Ferelden. I fear that all I have heard is that you are Orlesian, a Grey Warden, and a mage. Apparently you Orlesians are a secretive bunch! That having been said, now that I have returned to Ferelden, I fully intend to travel to Vigil's Keep to meet you face to face, and also to discuss any recent events that require my attention. Please expect me by Saturnalia. I believe this gives you plenty of time to prepare for my arrival._

_I look forward to finally meeting the new Commander of the Grey._

_Sincerely,_

_HRH_

_King Alistair Theirin_

***.,,,.*"*.,,,.*"*.,,,.***

The king watched in mild amusement as Seneschal Varel shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Apparently the Commander had a penchant for being tardy, and the seneschal was clearly distressed that he would choose _now _to be late for a meeting.

Alistair leaned back against the large throne while his man-at-arms, Mitchell, stood by his side.

"I am truly sorry for the delay, Your Majesty. The Commander should be here any moment," Varel said nervously.

Alistair smiled. "Think nothing of it. I can only presume that the Commander has been tied up – more than likely by a band of darkspawn. They follow Wardens about like dogs, you see."

"You are most understanding, Your Majesty," Varel replied, the relief evident in his voice.

No sooner had the seneschal spoken when a young elven servant entered the throne room. Alistair had deduced her station based on her attire. She scurried up to the seneschal, wringing her hands nervously.

"_Monsieur le __sénéchal_," the elf was obviously Orlesian and sounded incredibly worried.

"Yes, Yvette?"

The servant cleared her throat. "I am afraid that the Commander will not be able to meet with _Son __Majesté_ this evening. There has been a terrible mishap in the infirmary, and requires both Anders and the Commander's immediate attention."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "I hope it's nothing serious."

Yvette, the servant, seemed to only just realize that the king was present. She gasped and fell into a deep curtsy. "Forgive me, _Majesté_, I did not see you," she bowed her head in shame.

"Hey now, none of that. You were obviously distracted. Now tell me, what's happened in the infirmary?" Alistair asked gently.

"The cook has taken ill with a case of the _grippe_, but was too stubborn to take the evening off and cooked dinner for all of the soldiers yesterday. The stew she made was…I do not know the word in the common tongue…" she visibly struggled. "_Contaminé__?" _

"Contaminated," Varel offered.

Yvette nodded. "_Oui, c'est ça__. _The soldiers are all…very ill, and cannot hold down food. The Commander and Anders are treating them _maintenant_."

Alistair frowned. "That sounds terrible."

"Yes, very much so, _Majesté__. _The Commander would like to know if it is possible for you to meet in the morning over breakfast."

The king smiled widely. He had already anticipated spending the night in the Keep, and given the late hour, didn't see any problem in waiting to meet the Commander, or as the king liked to refer to him, 'the man of mystery'. "It's no trouble, Yvette. Perhaps you could show Mitchell and I to our quarters?"

Yvette dropped into another curtsy. "_Certainement__, __Majesté__. _Please follow me." The elf led the two men from the throne room and deeper into the halls of the Keep. They passed by several servants, who each bowed low upon seeing them. Eventually, Yvette stopped before two rooms that were side by side. "The room on the left is for _ton __Majesté_, and the room on the right is for Monsieur Mitchell. The Commander promises to compensate you for this inconvenience." She bowed her head, awaiting her dismissal.

"That's really not necessary, but thank you," Alistair replied kindly. "I think Mitchell and I will discuss a few things before turning in. Thank you so much for your hospitality."

Yvette blushed prettily and dropped into another curtsy. "I live to serve, _Majesté_." She turned and bustled down the hall, seeking out her next task.

Mitchell let out a low whistle. "She's a fine looking one, ain't she?"

Alistair spared a glance at the elf's retreating form. "Yes, I suppose she's quite pretty."

"Not your cup o' tea I take it?" Mitchell let out a knowing chuckle. "Oh, that's right. You prefer 'em with something to grab onto, aye? Some extra padding? More cushion for the pushin'?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Alistair scowled and rolled his eyes. If any other man showed such insubordination, they'd have been sacked immediately. Mitchell, however, was the exception. He'd served the king diligently since his ascension to the throne, and was the only one who kept Alistair grounded. "Let's just go inside and figure out how we'll deal with the meeting tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, '_Majesté'_, " Mitchell teased, using quite possibly the worst Orlesian accent ever. "You know, it's funny that the Commander brought his own servants over from Orlais. I wonder what was wrong with the ones that were already here?"

Alistair shrugged a shoulder as he stepped into the room. "I imagine he didn't trust the servants to be loyal, especially if they used to serve Rendon Howe. Can't say that I blame him." He spied a large table that accommodated two people. He sat in one of the chairs and gestured for Mitchell to sit across from him. "There was only one major concern I had regarding the Commander."

"What's that?"

"Well, in his first letter to me, at the very end there was a note that indicated that the letter had been translated by Seneschal Varel. Does that mean that the Commander can't speak the common tongue?" Alistair rubbed at the shadow of stubble that had formed along his chin and jaw. "How can he rule his arling if he can't even communicate with his vassals?"

Mitchell shrugged. "You're asking the wrong man, Your Majesty. Maybe he knows a bit of the common tongue, but not enough to write an entire letter to a king. Anything is possible."

"I suppose you're right. The letter was sent many months ago as well. Perhaps his grasp of the language has gotten better," Alistair said hopefully.

Mitchell opened his mouth to reply when a knock sounded at the door. He got to his feet, his sword drawn in case the person on the other side was a threat. He made his way to the door and opened it slowly.

"Oh! _Je m'excuse, monsieur_. I was under the impression that son _Majesté _was staying in this room," came a distinctly feminine voice.

Mitchell cast a glance over his shoulder at Alistair, his lips pulled up into a rakish grin. "It most certainly is His Majesty's room," he pulled the door open and stepped aside, revealing a young woman in her late twenties. She wore a simple blue gown, common to the peasant folk of Ferelden. Though it wasn't her clothing Alistair was paying attention to. His eyes drank her in entirely; her wide grey-blue eyes, upturned nose, cherubic lips, all framed by long, shoulder length hair the colour of coal. Though her face was captivating, it was her figure that had Alistair's pulse thrumming. Large breasts just begging to be feasted upon, the mild dip of her waist giving way to the soft cushioning of her lower tummy. And her hips…Maker those hips! So ample and round, his fingers twitched at the thought of grasping them while she rode atop him, her heavy breasts swinging into his face. Damn that Mitchell. He'd known as soon as he saw the woman what kind of effect she'd have on Alistair. The king's cock was practically at full attention just thinking about the different ways he wanted to ravish her. It had been a long time since he'd taken a lover, and this young woman's sudden appearance made him acutely aware of that fact. Mitchell cleared his throat. He glanced at the girl. "I suppose you're here to _speak_ with His Majesty?"

"Mitchell!" Alistair hissed.

"What?" his man-at-arms asked with mock innocence. "You deserve a tumble after such a long trip. That _is _why you're here, isn't it love?" He asked the woman.

"I-I am sorry, but I do not understand what you mean by 'tumble'?"

Before Mitchell could respond, Alistair cut in. "Just ignore him, my lady. Do come in, I'm sure you have something to tell me, yes? Mitchell, you may retire for the evening." After all, Mitchell was right, it _had _been a long journey, and this girl was obviously sent by the Commander to see to Alistair's needs, and would probably be insulted if the king turned her away. And so Mitchell exited the room as the girl entered.

Alistair knew how these sorts of things worked, he had visited the Pearl before on several occasions. He sat on the large bed that was provided him and motioned for the woman to sit next to him. She seemed confused for a moment, and then reluctantly sat down. Alistair leaned into her, his arm circling her waist to pull her closer. "You seem nervous, my dear. Whatever for? I'm sure this sort of thing isn't foreign to you…" He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck and suckled gently. A delightful shiver ran down the woman's spine, and she moaned. She then inhaled sharply and jerked away from him.

"_Majesté_! What do you think you are _doing_?" she ground out angrily.

"What do you think? Though I am open to other ideas…whatever you find pleasurable is fine by me, I'm sure," Alistair shot her his most charming smile.

The woman's cheeks turned a rather shocking shade of crimson. "_Pleasurable_? _Sacré! __C'est vraiment des conneries!"_

Alistair blinked. "Did you just say this is bullshit? Let me tell you right now, I may have a reputation for being a nice guy, but I will _not _put up with a prostitute speaking to me in such a manner!"

"_Prostitute_?" the woman screeched. That was when Alistair felt it. Why hadn't he felt it sooner? The magic that surrounded the young woman was so strong it practically rolled off of her in waves. "I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, the Arlessa of Amaranthine! I do not care if you are the king, you will not refer to me as a _whore_!" She folded her arms under her chest and jerked her head to one side, muttering under her breath. "_Imbécile_..."

"You're the _what_? How can that possibly be?" Alistair ignored the barb about him being an imbecile. "The Warden-Commander is a man. We liaised through written correspondence, and he signed his letter as 'Commander _Ron_ Caron'. Last I checked, Ron is a man's name."

She leapt to her feet, arms falling stiffly at her sides. "That is I! _I_ am Ron Caron!" When Alistair shot her an incredulous look she huffed irritably. "It is short for Véronique. I could not stand my name and so I had it shortened to Ron…Ronnie to my close friends." She held out her right hand. "If you still do not believe me, here is my signet ring to prove it!" Alistair grasped her hand and held it up for closer inspection. She was telling the truth. On her index finger was the crest of Amaranthine. He shot a glance at her left hand, which still hung at her side. He could just make out another signet ring on her left index finger, no doubt bearing the Grey Warden crest. He looked up into flashing grey-blue eyes. Their little confrontation had not lessened the heat in his loins. If anything, it left him even more aroused. He gently brushed his lips against the knuckles of the hand he was still holding.

"Forgive me for the misunderstanding, Commander. You're the last person I'd ever want to offend," he murmured. "Though I must say, calling you Commander seems far too formal at this point, and Ron just doesn't sit well with me. Is there any other way I can address you?" Alistair had come a long way since his days raised in the Chantry. During the Blight, the late Hero of Ferelden, Aedan, taught him a great deal when it came to women. He even insisted that Alistair lose his virginity at the Pearl, of all places. The king had been nervous and bumbling during his first encounter, unsure of himself or of how to please his mate. But the moment that his cock had entered the slick confines of her cunny, he was hooked. He visited the brothel many times after that, taking his pleasure whenever he could. After being crowned, Eamon had advised him that kings simply didn't frequent common whore houses, and that taking a mistress was much more advisable. And thus he began his torrid affair with a young courtesan named Natalia. Natalia had taught him more in the ways of pleasing a woman than he could have dreamed, and it was with Natalia that Alistair discovered his voracious appetite for eating pussy. When his mouth was fastened to a woman's sex, he felt as though he'd entered the Beyond, basking in his partner's juices and cries of pleasure. As he looked up at the Warden-Commander sizing him up with that fire in her eyes, he wanted nothing more than to have her legs wrapped around his neck…and then eventually his waist.

She cleared her throat to break the silence that stretched between them. "Some people call me Véro, _Majesté_. I suppose that would do."

"Much better; and please, it's Alistair. There are no titles amongst Wardens, remember?" he smiled at her disarmingly and couldn't help but feel a touch of triumph when her expression softened. He tugged on her hand. "Do sit down. We have many important issues to discuss after all."

Véro licked her lips and nodded, returning to her seat next to Alistair. She smoothed out her dress and took a deep breath. "Where shall we begin? The trade between the arlings? Warden business?"

Alistair couldn't give a fig about either subject. He inched a bit closer. "May I ask you something? It's sort of a…personal question."

Véro pursed her lips. "I suppose."

"When I first kissed your neck…your reaction seemed to be…agreeable. Why did you stop me?"

Véro twisted at the fabric of her dress nervously. "Because relations between the two of us would be most improper."

Alistair reached over and brushed her hair behind her shoulder, his fingertips skimming the precise spot his lips had previously been. "So it's not because you find me undesirable?"

A frisson ran down Véro's spine. She swallowed audibly. "No, I find you…quite…"

Alistair didn't allow her to finish her sentence. He tilted her face toward his and slanted his lips over hers. His free hand ran the length of her spine, resting just below the small of her back to cup her deliciously round arse. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue pressed against her lips and demanded entry. She obliged eagerly, her own tongue twirling against his. He slowly lowered her onto her back, taking care not to break their kiss. He let out a low groan when she sucked on his tongue. He began the task of unfastening the tiny glass buttons that held the uppermost part of her dress together. Though they were dainty and difficult to manipulate with his large hands, he'd had enough practice. Soon, she wore nothing but a brassiere from the waist up. He stared down in awe at her more than ample bosom. He knelt down and ran his tongue over one of her nipples through the sheer cloth that held her breasts in place. She sighed, running her fingers through his hair. He moved to the other breast, but soon grew weary of the lack of skin-to-skin contact and pulled up. He reached into his boot and extracted his spare knife. He very delicately cut the brassiere down the centre, causing her tits to bounce free.

"Hey!" she cried out. "I like that one!"

"I'll buy you a new one," he murmured before wrapping his lips around the rosy tip of a breast. He suckled greedily, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed. He pushed her skirts and smalls down her thighs and knees until he was able to kick them away. He placed one of his thighs between her legs, pressing it up against the apex of her legs. He rubbed his clothed thigh against her and she moaned. He pulled his mouth away from her breast with a distinctive popping sound and smirked down at her. "Do you like that?"

She nodded and mewled with pleasure, grinding herself against his leg.

"I bet I know something you'll like even better," he winked at her leaned down once again, kissing at the hollow of her throat and slowly making his way downward, past the valley of her breasts, trailing wet kisses down her rounded belly. When his face was positioned just in front of her sex, he licked his lips. "I'm going to taste you." He reached out and spread her open with his thumbs, exposing her to him. She gasped and attempted to shut her legs, but he kept them open, instead looping one over each of his shoulders. He leaned in and inhaled her scent and growled possessively. If her smell was any indication, his Warden-Commander would taste divine. He blew against the damp flesh of her folds, and he felt her thighs quiver. With a chuckle, he dove in, his tongue probing her deeply. She moaned loudly as he licked up and down her slit rapidly, never tarrying too long in one spot. It was enough to drive Véro mad. Soon, however, he was flicking his tongue against her bud with expert precision, causing her hips to buck upward as her mound humped his face of its own will. She couldn't think, and the sensation was almost too much to bear. She tried to squirm away, but he gripped her hips and held her firmly in place. Just when she thought he'd never cease in his torment, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked. She cried out, and the sensation was made even more extraordinary when his index and middle fingers suddenly entered her cunt, pumping in and out of her as she writhed beneath him. Her juices flowed freely, and he lapped them up hungrily, not wanting to waste a single drop. As she reached the end of her orgasm, he continued to lick her gently, sending small jolts through her nerve endings. She felt like a puddle, and when she finally found the strength to lift her head and gaze down at him, he was smirking in a most self-satisfied manner. He looked every part the king that he was. He made his way back up to her face and kissed her, and she tasted herself on his lips. She found that she quite enjoyed her own taste.

He made quick work of his breeches and pushed them just past his hips, freeing his engorged prick from its confines. He positioned himself at her entrance and she gazed up at him questioningly. "Aren't you taking off your clothes?"

He shook his head, a grin lifting the corners of his mouth. "No, I prefer it this way." He slid the bulbous head of his cock along her wet slit, using it to caress and circle her already overly-stimulated clit. Her hips jerked upward.

"Just…do it already!" she hissed.

"Do what?" he teased, his voice low and throaty. "What do you want?"

She blushed. "I want you to fuck me."

With that single statement Alistair thrust his entire length into her, eliciting a sharp cry from her. He pulled out entirely only to thrust in just as deeply. He continued this several more times until he'd worked himself up into a steady pace. Véro wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper. He groaned and buried his face into the crook of her neck as he continued his onslaught.

***.,,,.*"*.,,,.*"*.,,,.***

There was one being that roamed the halls of Vigil's Keep. He didn't need to sleep, for not only was he a Fade spirit, he was also a corpse. Neither one had such requirements. Which is why he found himself outside of the guest quarters where the king had been placed. He often found himself in odd places when he wandered the Keep at night, and tonight was no exception. He heard first the cries from his Commander. At first, he'd wanted to rush into the room to assist her, but soon realized her cries were not in pain…in fact, she sounded as though she was enjoying herself. Justice was always seeking out the secrets of the mortal realm, and couldn't help himself when he noticed that the door to the guest bedroom was slightly ajar. Not seeing the harm is sating his curiosity, he edged the door open a touch more. Before him was a sight that was both beautiful, and incredibly awkward looking. The king lay on his back on the bed, while the Commander rode him as she would a steed. Her head was thrown back, and her mouth formed a silent 'O'. She swivelled her hips against the king, and the king grunted in what seemed like approval. Her hands were placed behind her, bracing her weight on his thighs. One of his hands was busily rubbing at a spot between her legs. The other was cupping and kneading one of the Commander's large breasts. He rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and the Commander sighed with pleasure, her body now rising and falling along the length of his manhood.

This was quite obviously a mating ritual, and from their moans and cries of ecstasy, they were both enjoying themselves immensely. Justice had such memories stored in Kristoff's body. Some were of him and his wife, some were with other women. Regardless, Kristoff always appeared to be having a good time. Justice turned his attention back to the couple in the room and noticed that the king was pistoning into the Commander at a much faster rate, and her breathing had become quite rapid and came in quick bursts. The king was gripping her hips hard, slamming her down onto his cock. Justice could almost see a burst of energy flow between the two of them, and they both screamed simultaneously, he crying out her name, she crying out his. She fell forward into his arms, resting her head against his chest, and he pressed a kiss against the crown of her head. Such intimacy did not exist between Kristoff and his wife Aura. Normally he rolled over and fell asleep after their coupling. But not so with the king. He stroked the Commander's arm gently and whispered into her ear. She smiled.

Justice shook his head. Shouldn't mating be the same amongst all mortals? Why would there be any differences? He simply did not understand. Justice made a note to himself. He would ask the Commander about this particular opportunity as soon as possible. Perhaps at the breakfast table tomorrow morning.


End file.
